Ennui
by hiding duh
Summary: Casey/Sarah. Chuck hasn't flashed in a week. And Sarah and Casey are bored. Too bored.


**Title:**Ennui

**Characters:**Casey/Sarah

**Summary:**Chuck hasn't flashed in a week. And Sarah and Casey are bored. Too bored.

**Rating:**PG

**Spoilers:**Through 1x13

**x **

Bartowski hadn't flashed in a week.

So, technically, it was his fault.

Casey had trimmed four bonsai trees down to nubs, read _War and Peace_ twice (chuckling throughout), listened to ten hours worth of D&D background noise, cleaned his guns a record number of times, and was actually on the verge of _requesting Buy More overtime_ when his door burst open.

"I need your stash."

Casey calmly wiped a small rag across the barrel of his gun. "That was pretty damn stupid, Walker."

Sarah glanced around, squinting. "What, barging in on you?"

"I_am_holding a gun."

"It's disassembled," she dismissed briskly, stomping through his apartment.

With a scowl, Casey motioned at the towel spread neatly across his bed. Which was peppered with a healthy collection of semiautomatics. "Those aren't."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, good."

And before Casey could open his mouth to protest, she grabbed a compact Glock and expertly dismantled its magazine.

Unimpressed, he narrowed his eyes, tossing her a small rag. "Bored, huh?"

"Extremely." She glanced at the Beretta by her thigh. "Standard issue, Casey?" she challenged with an obnoxious smirk.

"Careful there, CIA," he grunted.

Sarah ignored him, frowning at the wall behind his headboard. "Hmm. Are the Petersons arguing again?"

A soft thump sounded from the adjacent apartment.

Casey cocked his head.

Sarah leveled her eyes with his. "What? Like _you_ didn't run a background check on everyone in this complex."

His lips quirked up briefly. "I'm a professional."

Sarah motioned for him to toss her the solvent. "So, are the Petersons arguing again?"

"He found out she's been cheating on him," Casey deadpanned, nodding his chin at an attractive little Smith & Wesson as though an inanimate object could sympathize.

Grinning, Sarah emptied the clip and chucked the gun at his lap. "With?"

"His sister."

"Ouch." She threw another appreciative glance at his collection, then added, "And the Boyds?"

"I'm not your personal soap opera consultant."

Sarah gave him a look.

"The kids are downloading porn," Casey grumbled. "Extreme amounts of it."

"Did you know the guy in 4B bought himself a wife last week?" Sarah asked casually, polishing a well-used frame.

"From?"

"Russia."

"Maybe I should warn him."

Sarah paused, and, after a beat, noted, "Casey, we're gossiping about Chuck's neighbors."

"You started it."

"That's... beside the point." Exasperated, she put down the assembled gun, then crossed her legs, all proper-like. "There has to be something we can do to alleviate the boredom."

Casey raised a curious eyebrow.

"I'm_bored,_Casey," she glared. "Not easy."

"Don't flatter yourself, sister." With a put-upon sigh, he strode over to the bed, where Sarah was basically loitering. "By the way, you're doing it wrong."

She stared at him for a moment, clearly contemplating whether to shoot him with one of his own guns, then decided to grin instead. "What, cleaning the gun, or sitting on your bed?" She spritzed a little solvent down the frame, and said, in a deceptively sweet voice, "I don't generally carry handcuffs, Casey."

Casey hesitated for a moment, fingers tightening around the trigger. "Look, Walker, that Prague thing never actually happened."

"Your file says otherwise."

If she hadn't been surrounded by mostly loaded semiautomatics, he might have considered executing her, and potentially chalking it up to an unfortunate case of friendly fire.

But he only grunted and sat by her.

She kept her mouth shut for a few precious moments, then, after arranging his now ridiculously clean collection in alphabetical order, asked, "D'you know I got a promotion?"

Since he didn't actually know, Casey gave her a side glance. "Congratulations."

"At Wienerlicious."

The grin took him by surprise.

She stood up and started pacing. "I can't take it." She peeked through the blinds, then spun around. "I should be in Barcelona or Minsk or Beijing. Infiltrating a cabal or something. _Not_discovering what can and cannot be thrown on a stick and deep-fried."

"Again," Casey grumbled, back muscles tensing, "I think you're confusing me with your shrink."

Sarah was obviously well trained in selective hearing since she merely bit her lip and shuffled off to troll his apartment.

Casey half expected Bartowski to burst into the room, whining about flashing on a packet of soy sauce. Of course, no such thing happened, and suddenly, to his horror, there was a row of empty beer bottles neatly lined up on his counter.

"Cool it, CIA," he growled, pushing her aside, "There's no way in hell I'll let you shoot up my damn apartment."

She looked at him with those big stupid eyes. "It's not your real apartment."

Casey thought about arguing for a moment, then shrugged and cocked his gun. "Loser buys beer."

Sarah screwed on a silencer with the sort of proficiency that made him slightly envious, then casually popped three bottles like she'd been paid to do so. "I never lose."

Smirking, he rolled his shoulder back and aimed. "You've never played _me_before."

Three sets of shattered bottles later, Casey frowned, inspecting the bullet holes above his sink. "Thanks." He turned to watch her with a disgruntled scowl. "So much for my security deposit." A beat later, he muttered under his breath, "And my accuracy."

She tilted her head, amused. "You put down a security deposit?"

Casey grinned. "Technically, I persuaded the landlord I wouldn't be needing one."

Sarah leaned against the counter. "I persuaded a Ukrainian Prime Minister to sign a decree once."

"I heard."

She glanced at him, clearly waiting to be praised or something. Casey found the concept unsettling.

"I took out a whole Cambodian village when you were still in diapers," he said instead.

"Sure, Grandpa," she replied, rising to the challenge. "At least I never got punked in the Czech Republic."

"At least I never got my ass kicked by the sandwich lady."

"_I've_ kicked your ass, Casey."

Casey gave her a cocky smirk, then said, in a calm, calculated manner, "You should've left with Larkin."

He mentally noted she had a killer right hook, then ducked.

Vaguely, he could remember it had taken three days for his tibia to heal last time she'd blitzed him, and then lunged at her. Sarah dropped to a crouch, exploiting his momentary loss of balance, and slid her leg under his.

He landed with a soft thud, hand automatically reaching for the nearest cable. One of his lamps went flying across the room, shattering against a coffee table.

"I liked that lamp," he growled, lassoing her wrist and tugging her forward.

She replied with a graceful roundhouse, loosening his hold. "You have horrible taste."

Casey rose, touching his fingers to the back of his head. "Pot. Kettle." Grimacing, he warned, "Try not to break those, too."

She evaded, blocking him with one skinny elbow. "Then. Don't. Make. This. Personal."

He sent her flying back, gritting his teeth as her boots left marks on his leather couch. "That's coming out of your expense account, Walker."

"At least the CIA can afford one," she replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Casey's eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Of course. Since it clearly doesn't spend anything on training its agents."

After a moment of eyeing each other and judging the distance between the nearest weapon and a safe zone, Sarah pounced hard, tackling him to the bed, guns scattering everywhere.

Her thumbs pressed into the dip above his collarbone, knees viciously digging into his sides.

"That was too easy," she panted, suspicious.

Casey offered her an annoyed glare.

Sarah's eyes widened slightly.

"Casey, are you... trying to comfort me?" she asked, scrunching up her face and hovering quite obnoxiously.

He made sure his distaste to such a preposterous idea was obvious.

But Sarah only smiled a little, slowly got up, and said, "You owe me a beer," as though he'd just given her a puppy or something equally disgusting.

And then she was sauntering toward the door, looking smug.

"Hey, Walker," he threw after her. "I was just bored. Okay?"

She paused at the threshold and turned her head slightly, one hand resting on the doorknob.

"Thanks, Casey."

"Yeah," he grunted with a nod, then narrowed his eyes. "You tell anyone—"

She closed the door after her.

Casey glanced around his apartment.

And shut his eyes tightly, counting down from ten.

"I'm gonna friggin' kill you, Bartowski."

End


End file.
